


The Summoning

by vomitbreath



Category: Ghost (Swedish Band)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Haven’t seen much of anything with a ftm reader, Here goes, Other, Ritual Sex, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 14:32:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12655425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vomitbreath/pseuds/vomitbreath
Summary: You didn’t want much from the summoning, just a bit of time to talk, maybe a pact. You didn’t expect this





	The Summoning

“Almost done.” You mutter to yourself, painting a large pentagram on the ground in front of you. You set the candles on each of the points, and prepare your dagger. You open your book, flipping through the pages to get to your bookmarked spot. Reading aloud, you recite the words printed. You hadn’t practiced, the spell was sacred and only to be performed in ritual. Allowing your words to slur with the language, you finish, closing the book. You raise the dagger to your palm and quickly slide it across. Your blood beads out of the wound. You wince, it stings. Dropping the blood into the center of the pentagram, you now chant, loudly.

“Papa Emeritus the Third, I summon you! Come forth!”

You wait. And wait. Nothing. Just when you’re about to get up from your cross-legged position, the candles go out. You smell the smoke, and curse softly under your breath. You knew you left the window open, perhaps a stray breeze drifted in. There’s a thump on the window behind you. Jumping out of your skin, you whip your head back to find that a large winged bug had flew into your window. You stare for a few seconds. A few more, before turning your head back to the altar. 

There, face to face with you, is Papa Emeritus. He’s so close you can feel his unusually cold breath. You yelp in surprise, falling back, and attempting to scramble backward. “It is you who summoned me, yes..?” You choke. A knotted ball in your throat prevents you from speaking normally. In a quiet, whimpering tone, you reply. “Y-..... Uh- Yes, yeah.” You’re visibly afraid. His gaze bores into you like daggers. Your binder feels tight. You shakily pull a finger under it to alleviate the warm air.

“I know what you want.” 

Your blood runs cold. The candles re-light themselves, and you glance at them for a split second, before looking back at Papa. He’s gotten closer, he’s nearly atop you, on his hands and knees just above your stomach. Your breathing is short and shallow. You’re panicking. “Relax, my Ghoul.” He purrs, placing a gloved hand atop your face. You inhale sharply. The world goes fuzzy. You feel dazed, hypnotized, almost. Your limbs feel like jelly and your chest is full of static. However, despite all of this, you’re comfortable. Pleasured, even. It’s a painkiller, as well as a relaxer for what is to come. 

“Good boy. May I continue?”

You lazily nod, and he works on your pants. Unbuttoning them and slipping them down your legs, your skin feels so much hotter. You’re burning up, and his touch is like ice. His eyes trail up your body, and he moves closer, pulling off your shirt. Upon noticing your binder, he asks quietly “May I?” You nod once more, and he slips it over your shoulders. His clawed, gloved hands trace your curvature. You groan, shakily bringing a hand up to hold onto his shoulder. He leans down, pressing his painted lips to your throat. You tangle your fingers in his soft hair, your back arching involuntarily. Responding to your sudden motion, he grinds deeply against you. Your breath hitches, and you shudder under him, tightening your grip in his hair. 

He slowly moves down your body, pulling off your underwear and leaning in, breathing cold breaths. He spreads your legs, and licks his lips with his forked, serpentine tongue. He laps once, twice, savoring the flavor. You twitch, desperately trying to grab onto the floor. He looks up at you, slipping his tongue inside. You groan, the feeling is foreign, something soft and wet inside you. He slides his tongue back out after tasting you, working on your clit. Sliding his tongue along it expertly, his forked tongue sliding across either side. You huff and let out a shaky breath, holding onto his head and grinding up into his mouth. You’re bucking your hips in want, so much so that he has to hold onto your thighs to settle you. 

After minutes of teasing you to the edge of orgasm, dragging you back, just to edge you closer, he sits up. You open your eyes and look up at him as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He pulls down his pants, and he’s visibly large and hard. You prepare yourself. He crawls up your body, pressing against you. You hold your breath as he thrusts into you unbelievably slowly. He gives you a few seconds to get used to his size, before he begins to move his hips. You’re beginning to moan, but he’s awfully quiet. He speaks in a low, purring tone however. 

“You’re tight.”

You moan his name, quivering at his comment, before he leans back, taking one of your legs in his hand as he thrusts deeper. You squeeze your eyes closed as he picks up the pace. He places his hand upon your chest, and instead of his cold touch, it burns. Extremely hot, as if he was holding a lighter to your bare skin. You cry out, a mix of pleasure and pain, and after a few seconds he retracts his hand. Scorched into your flesh is the Grucifix. You look up at him and he purrs once more. 

“This’ll hurt, my Ghoul. Be patient.”

You don’t have enough time to register what he said before an unbearably painful feeling sweeps across your body. He continues fucking you as you writhe and call out. You’re gripping the floor, your back arching and toes curling. Twisting ram horns sprout from your head, covered in torn flesh and blood. Your head throbs, and you yelp his name out. He replies by leaning in, pressing his lips to yours to silence you. Quickening his pace, he groans against your lips. 

“It’s almost over.”

You pant, now your back is screaming. A thin and wiry tail sprouts from your spine, and thick, long wings begin to form on your back. There’s tears falling from the corners of your clenched-shut eyes now, and Papa gently kisses them away as he fucks you. Your wings and tail finish forming, your bones painfully crackling to accommodate the new limbs. Your feet contort into monstrous paws, with terrifying sharp claws just within. Your mouth throbs until you feel a few teeth fall out (which you spit to the side), making way for your four new fangs. Two on the top, two on the bottom. Papa thrusts deeply, growling out “I’m going to cum. Be a good boy, Ghoul. Cum with me.”

You clench your now-fanged teeth, moaning out, grabbing onto his shoulder. “Papa! Please!” He jerks and plants himself within you, shooting his cum inside. Ecstasy washes over you, and you feel the electricity of orgasm consume you. After a few moments he pulls out, looking down at you and admiring his work. You pant, smiling as you shakily pull yourself up. With a simple wave of his hand, he manifests your uniform. You put it on, standing back and stretching out your new wings. He leans in, kissing your neck and taking your hand in his as he pulls you into the floor, through the center of the pentagram. 

“Come, I have so much to show you.”


End file.
